


Nostalgia

by PrettyCalypso



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Mexico, Post Season 7, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 08:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13807170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyCalypso/pseuds/PrettyCalypso
Summary: Mickey and his new "coworker" exchange a few words on a beach in Mexico.





	Nostalgia

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently in Mexico and it inspired me this fic.

 

She hasn't been to the beach in so long, it feels good to go back to it. She takes off her dress, let it slide along her smooth skin and walks to the edge of the water. She dips a first foot in. The crystal clear ocean is slightly cold, but it's so hot outside that she needs that fresh sensation against her skin. She walks further in, immersing herself fully, and starts to swim. She loves the feeling of the water surrounding her, grounding her. As a child she used to pretend she was a mermaid who had lost her tail. It might still be true. She swims until she feels the soreness in her muscles, and then goes back to shore. The sand is burning hot under her feet, but she ignores it and goes back to her spot, where her towel is waiting for her. She wraps it around her body and sits heavily next to her grumpy companion. The man is fully clothed, with baggy shorts and a tank top that reveals his farmer tan. She steals the cigarette from his mouth.

  
"The fuck's with you?" she asks after exhaling some smoke.

  
He scoffs, lights another cigarette and shakes his head.

  
"Nothing's up."

  
"You're always super moody when we come to the beach." she states. "I mean, you're always an asshole, but it's worse when we're at the beach."

  
"Don't like the sand." he grumbles, and she knows he's not telling her anything, but she doesn't care.

  
She crushes the butt of her cigarette in the sand and lies on her back. She closes her eyes and thinks about the Southern California where she grew up. It was tough, but she misses it sometimes.

  
"We have a shipment coming in tonight." she reminds him.

  
She doesn't see him, but she knows he nods.

"Don't you ever get tired of it?" he suddenly asks. "Moving drugs and shit? This fucking business?"

  
"I'm 23." she replies. "I'm too young to be tired of shit."

  
She opens her eyes to look at him, at his profile and his blue eyes fixed on the ocean.

  
"Why are you so nostalgic today?" she asks.

  
"I ain't fucking nostalgic." he says, defensively.

  
"Looking deep at the ocean and talking about retirement feels pretty fucking nostalgic to me."

  
"Fuck off."

  
"Did you leave people back home? Do you miss them?"

  
He shakes his head again.

  
"My family was a bunch of shitheads."

  
"You mentioned a sister once. Do you miss her?"

  
He shrugs.

  
"She was slightly better than the others."

  
She knows she won't get more, not without prying, and she's in a playful mood.

  
"Nobody else?"

  
"Nope."

  
He pops the final "p" and lights another cigarette. She smirks. He's an asshole with a soft heart and she likes to mess with him.

  
"Give me your phone." she demands, waving her hand in front of his face.

  
"What for?"

  
"Just give it to me."

  
"No."

  
He shifts the slightlest bit as to protect the device she knows is in his front pocket. But she's fast and sneaky. She sits up, reaches for the phone and stands up, walking a few feet away before he can stop her. Not that he even tries. He just stays there and rolls his eyes, like the old tired fuck he likes to pretend he is.

  
"You're a bullshit liar." she declares, already unlocking the phone with the 1234 combination he never bothered to change. "I know for a fact that you have exactly two photos on your phone - which is very sad by the way, but we already know that you're an old man."

  
She swipes the icons and taps on the picture folder. The first one is a "received" picture of a blond toddler, looking at the camera with a scowl and blue eyes that are the spitting image of the man in front of her.

  
"That's your fucking son, isn't it?" she asks, shoving the phone in his face. "How old is he? 3, 4? And you're telling me you don't care about him?"

  
"He's better off without me." he shrugs, and she wasn't expecting that answer. It makes her a little sad.

  
"What about him?" she asks now, sliding to the second picture, a man sleeping peaceful on what looks like a shitty blanket on an uncomfortable ground, the light of what looks like sunset reflecting in his fiery red hair. "Who the fuck is he? Surely you care enough to keep his picture next to your son's."

  
"No one." he says harshly, and this time he makes a move to grab the device.

  
She hands it back to him without a fight, she's done playing.

  
"Are you gonna go back to them?"

  
"They're not waiting for me."

  
"How do you know?"

  
"I just do."

  
She rolls her eyes and sits back down. His self-depreciation annoys her, but she also wishes she could help him.

  
"Are you happy here?" she asks softly.

  
"Are you?" he questions back instead of answering.

  
It takes her by surprise, and she doesn't know what to say.

  
"Yeah, that's what I thought." he scoffs, and he stands up, starting to walk back toward the town.

 


End file.
